The Picture That Took A Thousand Words
by minorshan
Summary: She swore it took a thousand words to talk Emma into it, but that photo proved to be worth the trouble another thousand times over. Not just for her, but the family they left behind too. Not that she could've guessed that at the time. A few episodes in a genre I like to term fluff with a shot of bourbon. Explores the origin of the photo of Mary Margaret & Emma seen at the end of
1. Would You, Could You, In a House?

_'You do not like them, so you say._  
_Try them! Try them! And you may' _

_- Dr. Seuss, "Green Eggs and Ham"_

**Chapter One: Would You, Could You, in a House?**

* * *

Mary Margaret lay on her right side, hugging a pillow tightly to her chest. To an observer standing at the curtain doors to her bedroom, she could have easily been mistaken as asleep, and for the umpteenth time that night, she wished she was. She had thought that after being acquitted of murder, and a crowded 'welcome home party', she would fall asleep before her head hit the pillow. But, apparently, that wasn't to be the case.

Instead, she was being taught the same lesson she'd learned countless times in the two and a half decades of her life thus far: life wasn't fair.

Not to mention it had a twisted sense of humor. While sleep on her jail cell cot had been fitful and full of nightmares, she'd at least had something to think about. Her mind had constantly been constantly busy, running roughshod over the same handful of topics.

How to prove her innocence. How her life had gotten to that point. Cursing herself for following her heart instead of her head when it came to David. Cursing herself for lashing out at the one person who had never stopped believing in her, for something that wasn't her fault. She replayed that moment in her head a lot in her last night in that cell.

'_Leave! Leave, leave, leave! __**Please**__ leave!' She buried her face in her hands, knowing that if she looked at Emma, she'd say yet another thing she'd regret._

'_Mary Margaret..' Emma pleaded. _

_Even without looking, Mary knew her best friend's walls were completely down. And all she wanted to do was strike at that vulnerable spot. Make something else in the world hurt and panic like she had been for weeks. And she was disgusted at herself for it. Because even though she knew why and hated it, she also knew she wasn't strong enough to resist for long. __'__**LEAVE!**__' _

_She was wracked with another wave of pain, her stomach in knots from choking down sobs, and she heard Emma's boots clop forlornly against the cheap tiled flooring as she walked away. She had hurt her only white knight, the only good thing in her life, blaming her for failing to help her. Even though she was the only one even trying._

But now that she was home, wrapped in her warm down comforter, the endless maze of thoughts was replaced by a big empty space. And she still couldn't sleep. She stared at her silver art deco clock, its hands laughing in her face as they crept up on the 'IV' stenciled in black. She'd never really understood the old adage of being too tired to sleep until now. She grunted in quiet frustration as she flipped onto her left side, turning her back on it, pillow still clutched in her arms.

The funny thing was, she wasn't lonely. She'd been lonely for as long as she could recall, and she'd spent many nights contemplating buying a new bed. One that wasn't so big. One that wouldn't allow her to sleep on the right half of the mattress, leaving the other half empty, like she's always done, for reasons she couldn't explain. It was like a physical manifestation of what was missing in her life.

But not tonight. Not, really, since Emma had rolled into town in that kitschy little yellow bug of hers had she felt truly alone. While it still seemed like something was missing in her life, the incompleteness suddenly more bearable.

She let her eyes drift along the photos framed and displayed on her dresser and nightstand. In times past, the collection of pictures of herself with her students had been a comforting reminder of her place in the world. But now, she suddenly found herself realizing how sad it was that those were the only pictures with people in them in her apartment.

Why was that?

She flipped the problem around in her mind, but it was slippery and hard to hold on to long enough to really work it over. She couldn't be that alone, could she? Something in her heart seemed to faintly call for her; pleaded with her to remember that life hadn't always been like this. That it was in her power to change it, if she truly wished to. That this wasn't how it was supposed to be. Where were the pictures of her parents? When was the last night she'd seen them? Her parents were both gone - passed on - but the cause of it was hazy. She knew she knew it, but the details were hazy. Suddenly, an answer popped into her head - keeping pictures of them around had been too painful; that's why she didn't have any up. But was that the answer she'd been trying to remember? It had to be, right?

Mary Margaret sighed. She had been through so much humiliation, and then terror and heartache, for David, and she didn't even have a photo to show for it. To hold on to in secret, or cut his face out of in vengance. Worse still, as much as she wished to deny it, if she had such a picture, it would be displayed on her nightstand that very moment.

Scratch that. Emma would never have let her torment herself like that. The squeak of an old box spring mattress as Emma flipped herself over, followed by the muffled thump of the blonde's fist 'fluffing' a pillow, echoed faintly through the apartment, bringing a smile to Mary Margaret's lips. She couldn't imagine going back to living alone - not after having the warmth and life that having another person there brought.

'_Well, if I can't have a picture of David, I'm going to damned well have a picture of my best friend - my family - to keep,' _she thought. Somehow, she knew the woman wasn't going to just up and pose for a picture. That kind of thing just wasn't Emma-ish. She'd just have to give her roommate no choice in the matter. Decision made, she closed her eyes, and finally drifted off to sleep as she she formulated plans for 'Operation Shutterbug'.

* * *

Okay so it wasn't so much a covert mission like a Henry plan, as it was a brash ambush. "Emma!" she cried a little too enthusiastically as her roommate blearily made her way downstairs, still clad in the tank top and yoga pants that made up her pajamas.

Emma gave Mary Margaret a nod, but continued her way, pulling cereal from the pantry cabinet, along with a bowl. She had gotten the bowl nearly halfway filled when Mary Margaret made a perky announcement from behind her. "I made breakfast! You like pancakes, right?" Emma paused, arm still holding the cereal aloft and looked to her right. Sure enough, there was a stack of pancakes - pancakes apparently poured into Christmas cookie cutters, as they were shaped into stars, gingerbread men, and doves. So cutesy. _So_ Mary Margaret. She eyed her bowl of cereal.

Well, they were still pancakes. She shrugged, pushing the bowl of dry cereal and its box out of her way and loaded up a plate. After pouring herself a mug of the coffee whose aroma had awoken her, she settled at the dining table. She was about to tuck into her meal when Mary Margaret slid into her usual spot, across from Emma. In addition to having her own plate in hand, she carried a gravy boat of syrup which she placed in the center of the table. Emma gave her an appreciative smile before drizzling some over her couple of sips of coffee had woken her up just enough to make basic conversation. "Why up so early?" she asked. It was barely six am, and to have made this breakfast, she would have had to been up for a while.

Mary Margaret shrugged jauntily. "Oh, no reason! Just felt like doing something a little special this morning! You've got to treat yourself every now and again, right?"

Emma shrugged, still not quite awake enough to argue, and cut the head off of a fluffy brown dove-cake with the edge of her fork. She had to admit, when it came to sweet foods, the woman was a master. But that appreciation only lasted a fleeting second before she realized something was off about all this; her Swan-sense was tingling. She narrowed her eyes at her oddly ebullient roommate. "The syrup is warm."

Mary Margaret did her best to shrug nonchalantly. "Yeah... it's better that way." She quickly returned her attention to her plate.

"And there's cinnamon in the batter."

"Like I said - it's better."

"That's not the point. It's way too much effort for a tuesday morning," replied Emma. It looked like she was going to have to play hardball and tweak Mary's neurosis. "Look, if you want me to move out, you can just say so. I'm a big girl - no hard feelings."

Mary Margaret's already naturally big eyes went saucer-sized. "What? No! No! I was just... feeling like doing something nice!" Emma raised a skeptical eyebrow at her roommate as she took another bite from her plate. Mary deflated in defeat almost immediately. "Ok. I want something. But it's not a big something."

"You know you only have to ask for a favor, right?" replied Emma.

"Mmm... maybe not this one."

"You need me to help move furniture or a body?" joked Emma, but instantly regretted it as Mary's face suddenly put the blanch in Blanchard. "Sorry. Too soon."

"No," replied Mary and she sat up a bit straighter, doing her best to put on a devil-may-care attitude. "You've got the right idea. I didn't do anything, and everything is okay now. Time to move on - make a few bad jokes."

"You go girl," Emma replied sardonically. "So, what's the huge favor you felt the need to butter me up for?"

"Well... It's quick. We could do it right now, in fact." She opened her small handbag, which had oddly, been sitting on her lap, and reached inside. "It would only take a second." She pulled out a small silver rectangle. A digital camera.

Emma drew back on reflex, as if the other woman had just pulled out a snake. "Oooh, no. Nope."

Mary Margaret's brow furrowed. "Oh, c'mon, just one."

"Nope. I would do anything for you, you know that. But I _will not_ do that." Mary Margaret couldn't help but detect a little nervousness in her friend's voice; just enough to encourage her to push on. "Especially looking like _this_," Emma continued, gesturing at her hair and wrinkled sleepwear.

Mary shrugged. "Okay, well, after you get ready, then?" Perhaps if she played oblivious to Emma's discomfort she would simply give in rather than push the issue.

"Aahh_uuhh._.. look. It's not you. I just have this thing about pictures..." replied Emma, nearly squirming in her chair. She quickly shoveled a couple more bites of food into her mouth. "Look, I gotta get rolling, take a shower, I'll... maybe later," she finished lamely and made a quick beeline for the bathroom.

Mary Margaret slumped in her chair, picking at her food as she thought over her next move. She realized it was a little strange to be obsessing over something so trivial, but something in her gut didn't think it was as trite a matter as it seemed. Besides, it gave her something to distract herself with until she got back to her class in a couple days. Before she knew it, it was a quarter to seven, and Emma was still in the shower. She sighed. Clearly, her friend was taking as much time as possible to get ready, probably hoping Mary would leave first - likely forgetting that she wouldn't be back teaching until Monday. And while she could easily win the standoff, having nowhere better to be, Mary decided to step back for a moment and regroup. After all, when you find your forces in a stalemate, your best option is to get the opposing army pinned down while your melee units flank and capture.

She paused, frowning at herself. Where had _that _come from? She _had_ fallen asleep to the History Channel plenty of times... maybe that was it. Osmosis or something. As the bathroom door opened, wafting forth a cloud of steam, Mary Margaret quickly busied herself cleaning up, not heeding the towel-clad Emma as she made her way back upstairs to her room. Nonetheless, she'd noticed her friend had apparently applied her makeup, minimal than she often wore, but enough to complete her usual look. Clearly, she'd left the shower running simply to discourage Mary from knocking on the door. With the sink loaded, and her roommate still upstairs, Mary took one more moment to fill a large thermos full of hot coffee, black, leaving it with a note at the foot of the stairway to Emma's loft. Couldn't hurt to continue the buttering up, after all. And for the first time in a long time, she stepped onto the streets of Storybrooke with a smile on her face.

Emma had heard the front door close not long after she'd retreated back upstairs, and was relieved to have Mary's request on the back burner for the moment as she zipped up her boots before heading downstairs. She knew she would give in eventually; she hadn't misspoken when she'd called Mary Margaret family, and that meant she had Emma wrapped around her finger, whether she knew it or not. Still, she had to put up some kind of fight, lest the woman think she could just start planning all kinds of warm fuzzy Mary Margaret type moments. Like, Christmas caroling or something. Just because that was months away didn't make the danger any less real. That was when she saw the thermos, perched on the last step, topped with a purple sticky note. She bent down, picking up the coffee, as she plucked off the note.

_Seemed like you were moving a little slow this morning._

_Thought I'd save you a little time. Don't worry, it's black._

_Talk later? _8oD

Emma rolled her eyes out of habit, but a smile played on her lips. She shook her head at the quirky little smiley face that punctuated her friend's bubbly, yet flawless, calligraphy. Yup. She, Emma Swan, was a goner. Stranger still, it didn't seem like such a terrible fate. '_God, I'm getting soft.'_

* * *

Mary Margaret had decided to take the opportunity to stretch her legs. Long walks had always been calming for her - and being locked away from that outlet had been the worst part of her incarceration. One thing she _hadn't_ missed was how quickly Storybrooke's weather could shift at this time of year. While the pink cardigan/buttoned blouse combo had seemed almost too light in the morning hours, it was now approaching early afternoon, and the sun had burned away any chill in addition to the fog. She kicked herself for not heading back to the apartment to change into something with fabric that breathed better, but it was too late for that now. At least, if she was going to 'accidentally' run into Emma. She was now hoofing it so single-mindedly, that that was precisely what happened as she turned the corner.

Mary Margaret let out a yelp of surprise, echoed by a 'whoa' from Emma, and the two women flung their arms out, grasping the other. They'd mirrored the each other so well, that they somehow managed to avoid a real spill, regaining their footing with minimal stumbling. "Mary Margaret!" exclaimed Emma.

"Emma! Sorry. Guess I was just lost in my own little world," she remarked with a laugh.

Emma shrugged and bent down to retrieve her jacket, which had been knocked from the crook of her arm by their collision. "Yeah, well, you know. You're institutionalized. It happens sometimes when folks are in the big house too long. They can't make it on the outside," she replied with faux solemnity. "You weren't just assaulting the Sheriff to get back behind bars, were ya?" she asked with a sly smirk.

Mary threw up her hands. "You got me!" she replied with a chuckle.

Emma ran a hand through her hair, absently arranging her now tousled wavy hair back into it's normal controlled chaos. "So, seriously, what brings you down here?"

Mary Margaret shrugged. "I needed the walk."

"I hear ya," replied Emma with an understanding nod. "Unfortunately, duty calls."

Mary frowned. Nothing happened in Storybrooke. Except to the people she cared about, she amended mentally. She just hoped it wasn't so urgent as to put a wrench in her plan. "It isn't something urgent is it?" She winced internally at her tone, hoping it didn't come across as too eager.

"Um, sort of. Red just tipped me off that our old friend Sidney Glass is grabbing a bite at Granny's."

"Oh, well, okay. I was just going to ask you if you'd like to join me for lunch..."

Emma shook her head. "Not today, I'm afraid. I'm kind of planning of a surgical strike. Let him know that we're on to he and Regina's little game and vamanos before he can ask any more questions. Let him stew in it for a bit." She glanced up at the noon sun, squinting against the cloudless sky. "Or maybe I should drag him out here and let him bake."

Mary nodded. "Well, how about an ice cream, then? My treat."

"Uh, sure. How could I say no to that in this weather?" That was when she saw the same offending piece of electronic equipment from that morning in Mary's hand. "But I _can _say no to _that._"

"There's no such thing as a free lunch, but this is pretty close," reasoned Mary Margaret. Emma narrowed her eyes and Mary huffed in frustration at the look. "C'mon. One take - your car is right there. It'll be a great shot - like, marking where we first met!"

"We first met in your classroom," reminded Emma.

"Okay, so, where I first invited to you be my roomie," she shot back quickly. Emma simply crossed her arms as she met her friend's gaze. _'Stubborn,'_ Mary thought to herself. _'That's okay. I can show her the true meaning of the word.'_ She tilted her head inquisitively. "What's with the fear of cameras? I have a hard time believing you're not photogenic."

"I'm afraid it's going to steal my soul," replied Emma flatly, but the look she got from Mary Margaret made it plain: she wasn't going to get out of this on deflecting quips alone. "I got tired of inhaling burnt photo paper fumes."

Now this got the other woman's attention. She could tell there was an air of truth behind the flippant remark. "Emma..."

The blonde shrugged. "Well, I could ask the same. What's with the sudden obsession of getting some picture with me?"

"You first. Deal?"

"Ok... deal." Emma drew in a breath, but found her tongue surprisingly loose. Maybe she'd been getting too much sun. "Photos are like... a reminder. Call me gun shy, but I really have been bitten one too many times. So, one day, I decided that I wouldn't take them any more. So, when someone I cared about inevitably hurt me, threw me under the bus or whatever, I could just move on, like it never happened. Photos are just a pointless exercise when getting rid of them is just another knot you've gotta tie to close up all those loose ends." She shifted her weight nervously between her feet as her fight or flight nerves tried to surface. And there it was, that sad, but completely accepting smile from Mary Margaret.

"You're worried I'm going to want you out of my life?" she said, and Emma was struck by the genuine surprise, and guilt, in her friend's voice. "If this is because of what I said in jail - when you couldn't find the shovel -"

"No! No. That's... water under the bridge. I've been there. I get it. And I trust you; I do. I couldn't imagine..." There was an awkward pause before Emma felt the need to prod the conversation forward. "So - your turn."

"Hm? Oh. Right." She twisted her emerald ring back and forth on her finger. "This is going to sound silly..."

"As long as it's not for a fairytale mommy-daughter scrapbook, I doubt it'll seem too ridiculous."

Mary laughed. "No... It was just that last night... I couldn't sleep, and I realized that if something were to happen - if I were to go away, there would be no proof I'd done anything with my life except teach kids how to make birdhouses and diagram sentences..."

"C'mon. You're an amazing teacher."

"How would you know?" Mary's tone wasn't hostile or defensive, but genuinely searching.

"Because you gave Henry hope. That's... the _greatest_ thing you can give anyone. It's amazing. I wish I had had a teacher, or hell - _any _adult really, in my life like that when I was growing up. And I bet he's not the first kid you've been there for." Emma searched her friends eyes for any hint of if what she'd said had sunk in.

Mary Margaret shook her head. "Not... really. At least not for as long as I can remember."

"Well, I'm sure that you were just being oblivious," Emma offered, lightly touching a hand to Mary's arm.

"Well, be that as it may... the point is that I have nothing to show for it. To remind me of the amazing people in my life. I love my students, but I'm more than an elementary school teacher. It's been a long time since that was true, but I want to embrace that. I want a piece of the amazing people in my life that I can look at years from now. It seems like memories get so hazy, so quick. Like my whole life is a blur, you know? Having something to hold on to is important."

Emma sighed. There was no arguing against that without being an incredible heel. "_Al_right_..._ Let's get this over with."

The smile returned to Mary's face. "You're sure?"

"Don't give me a chance to weasel out of it."

"Noted," she replied with a playful nod of her head. "You don't have to worry about me, Emma. You believed in me, and nothing can make me not believe in you," she said as she studied her reflection in the passenger window of Emma's yellow bug, fixing her hair just so.

"Oh, yeah?" replied Emma, her tone indicating she wasn't seriously challenging Mary's sincerity. "And how, pray tell, can you guarantee that?"

"Because you believed in me, with no hesitation, no questions, and fought for me, even when I took out every venomous feeling on you. You stuck by me. I trusted you with my _life,_ because I know you. And that frame job... it confirmed every instinct I ever had about you. I don't know what happened to Regina, but I do know three things. She's damaged - maybe beyond repair - but if she'd had someone like you in her life, I don't thinks she'd be what she is today. Second - she's not done, whatever it is she thinks she's doing. And third - I intend on being with you every step of the way, like you've been for me." She sidled up next to Emma and wrapped her arm loosely around the blonde's waist, before holding up the camera, trying to frame a shot. "Besides, what kind of mother would I be if I left you to fight the Evil Queen all by yourself?" she remarked wryly.

Emma chuckled at this, despite the rather grim implication of what Mary had said. There was a larger truth behind it that made her feel warm, but light at the same time. The tides were turning. She could feel it. And when it came time to face Regina head on, she wouldn't be alone. She rested her head to one side, against Mary's, as her friend snapped her much sought after picture.

"Now, was that so hard?" remarked Mary.

"Don't push your luck, lady," Emma shot back with a waggishly crooked smile. "Meet me in ten at the Sarah's Parlor?"

Mary Margaret nodded. "I'll let them know they need to start on some fresh waffle cones - sheriff's orders."

Emma let out a huff of a laugh. "You know what I like!" She shrugged on her black jacket, despite the heat, and Mary watched as her roommate's shoulders naturally drew back, her posture a little straighter as she seemed to finger something in her pocket. Emma flashed her a nod and a smile as she resumed her walk to Granny's and Mary couldn't help but wonder if her friend knew she wore her jackets like suits of armor.

She smiled to herself as she crossed the street, heading in the direction of the town's ice cream parlor. Emma had been her knight in leather armor in more ways than one, and she was determined to return the favor. She resolved that come what may, they would be sisters in arms.

And that, even more than a framed moment, captured in time, was worth holding on to.

Always.

* * *

**A/N - **For those that haven't seen the deleted scene from 'Stable Boy' that I included in the flashback - get thee to youtube post haste! Simply heartbreaking performance by both. For anyone following my other fic, don't worry, I'm already halfway through the next chapter for "Sparrows". This is just a little plot bunny that needed to be released before 2x02.


	2. Becoming Aware of Us, As a Pair of Us

**A/N:** Wow! Blown away by the response. Thanks to everyone who read, and much love to those who reviewed - it makes my day :)

* * *

'_It's no fun, but what needs to be done,_

_You can do, when there's two of you.' _

_- Sondheim, "Into the Woods"_

**Chapter 2: Becoming Aware of Us, As a Pair of Us**

She was furious. She was worried. She wanted to blame Emma. She _did _blame Emma. For making her care about her. For making her feel like she had somehow failed the closest person she had to family. But Emma had never wanted to be looked after. Hell, she was often not just Mary's confidante, but her world-weary advisor. Like an older sister. So why should she feel like a failure at her friend's poor choices? She hadn't had such a battle between her heart and her head since David.

She felt like she was losing her mind - and it had only been 12 hours.

It had been less than a week since she'd stepped back into the old rhythm of her life. Some people might have found it tedious, the old Emma included, but after the mess her life had become in the preceding months, she was comforted by it. She could tell the blonde who had lived a lifetime of instability felt the same - even if she didn't admit it.

Wake up. Breakfast with Emma. Avoid looking at the clock until her friend found a way to nonchalantly mention the time, letting her know it was past 7:15. That ritual wasn't something they'd discussed, and she continued to marvel at how easily they could come to a non-verbal understanding.

Off to school, then grading papers over cocoa, or pie ala mode at Granny's, depending on how the day had gone. Home 45 minutes before Emma, which she used to decompress by straightening up the apartment and prepping dinner. Tuesdays and Thursdays the pair settled in with a sinfully buttery bowl of popcorn, a glass of wine, and a movie.

Henry's visits on Wednesdays; the remaining evenings, she slipped into her flannel pajamas and retired to read - just as she'd done before she had a roommate. Emma, meanwhile, would settle in with her 'study buddy', the tv, to keep her company while she worked on bureaucratic paperwork, or sift through documents, looking for a way to wrest Henry away from Regina. She thought they were settling in for the long haul. Apparently, she had been wrong.

Mary Margaret's sleep was still fitful, but the nightmares had stopped. This was, perhaps, why she was wide awake at two AM, staring once again at her bedside clock. Only she wasn't really seeing it this time. The past two days were on continuous loop - had she missed a sign? Should she have seen some sort of hint that Emma was feeling pushed too far?

No matter how many times she ran through it, she couldn't find a single action to point at and say _'There! Ah-ha! Why didn't I see it before?' _ That's likely why what happened when she arrived home was so surprising.

She had come home thinking they'd have a little celebration with Henry on her one week anniversary of freedom. She'd even picked up the ingredients for what she believed was an old family recipe - honey nut banana bread - intending to engage her roommate in a little bakeoff, of all things.

Fridays had only just started becoming a day of bonding activities - not tgat ghey called it that - when she'd been arrested. Emma showed her how to pick a lock with a credit card one week, she showed Emma how to sew on a button. Mary Margaret had been particularly pleased with herself when she'd surprised Emma by fashioning an arrowhead and stone knife simply by striking a few blocks of stone against each other. And so the next week, Emma had countered by revealing her flair for origami, particularly folding swans. She'd claimed it was something she learned in jail to keep herself occupied. Mary hadn't believed it at the time, but once she herself was behind bars, she found the simple dime-store origami instruction booklet and papers Emma had left for her to be invaluable for keeping her sanity. Even a teacher could only read so much.

So it had gone, they would make plans for future activities to be shared, each one-upping the other with the most unexpected skills they had. Like much of her experience of incarceration, the memory was as vivid as if it had just happened.

_Mary Margaret had just finished explaining why learning to tie a knot in a cherry stem with her tongue - at an ice cream sundae reward party for her straight-A students - was so totally __**not**__ inappropriate. 'Come on! Clearly if little Jayden Horner already knew how to do it, there's nothing wrong with him teaching __**me**__,' she argued. _

_Emma shook her head. 'Nope... still weird.' Mary rolled her eyes up, cocked her head to one side and folded her arms in a pout, to which Emma could only laugh at in response before offering up an olive branch. 'Still... very Sex and the City of you. Wouldn't have guessed.'_

_Mary's brows furrowed. 'Is that a good thing?'_

'_In the one aspect - the __**only**__ good aspect to be found in a show designed for bored soccer moms and lonely old cat ladies. I do believe you've proved to me there's a fiery little vixen lurking behind that veneer of floral prints and pastel cardigans,' teased Emma._

'_I may be a serial monogamist-'_

'_And terrible at the love 'em and leave 'em game,' Emma interjected._

'_But I __**told **__you I'm no nun,' she finished with a devilish glint in her eye. _

'_Just as long as you don't tell me you're a Samantha or... __**whatever**__, I'll get behind whatever you are.'_

'_Actually, I'm more of a Miranda,' replied Mary earnestly. Emma simply blinked at her, then seemed to mentally fumble for some way to backpedal out of accidentally insulting her friend's entertainment tastes, or barring that, simply take the bull in a china shop approach out of it. Mary let her statement hang in the air for about ten seconds before she couldn't hold in the laugh at Emma's reaction. 'I'm __**kidding!**__ If I'm going to go for trashy romance, I prefer it take the form of a Harlequin novel.'_

_Emma tried to scowl, but her lips just didn't seem to want to obey gravity and stay down, so she finally gave up on any indignation and shook her head. '__**You!**__ Are a cruel cruel woman, you know that? You are __**so**__ getting bread and water for dinner tonight. For a second there I thought I'd stepped into bizarro world. And when that relief comes with picturing you hanging off Fabio's bicep, I think I've hit my threshold for Mary Margaret fun facts for the day.'_

'_Fair enough. So - what have you come up with that will change my view of ex-bounty hunter Emma Swan?'_

'_Oh, it's not much this time,' replied Emma with a smirk, and Mary Margaret wondered how someone with such a bad poker face had made her living tricking bond-skipping cons into traps. 'I don't cook much, but I do make the most badass banana bread that the laws of the universe will allow.'_

'_Emma Swan __**bakes**__?' replied Mary incredulously. _

'_Uh, don't carry that conclusion too much further. I'm very much a one trick pony. Thankfully, this pony's one trick happens to be the most amazing in the history of that particular baked good.'_

_Mary Margaret shook her head. 'Be that as it may, I'm afraid I already know how to make banana bread - which kinda defeats the purpose of the whole exercise.'_

_Emma shook head. 'No - you may know how to make one, but you don't know how to make __**the best one**__.'_

'_Don't count on it. My grandmother's recipe has been known to draw neighbors like flies when they smelled her baking it.' replied Mary._

'_Yeah? Well the DEA briefly flirted with classifying mine as a controlled substance, it's so deliciously addictive.' The pair found themselves in an impromptu staring contest, both scowling as if they could win on sheer will alone, but this quickly dissolved into a fit of laughter. _

_When they'd pulled themselves together they'd decided a bake-off was in order - with Henry as judge - once Mary Margaret was released. The unwavering conviction that she would prove Mary Margaret's innocence was incredible, and aside from that one dark moment with the shovel, had acted as the life preserver that never let her drown in a sea of her own sorrows. _

She should have known something was up when Emma hadn't responded to the calls, and finally a text, from Mary when she'd been at the market picking up the ingredients. But even in sleepy towns like Storybrooke, the sheriff could be bogged down by work. So, she'd made her best guesses and hoped her well-stocked pantry would have whatever else Emma might need. By the time their dinner hour had come and gone, she'd tried the station directly, only to still get no answer. While she told herself she wasn't really worried, she packed up the shepherd's pie she'd made for dinner and headed for the station.

Deserted. Locked. And the red light of the newly installed burglar alarm blinked, indicating it was armed - which was extraordinarily weird to be the case while Emma was still on duty. The strangest spark of jealousy flared up in her heart at this. Had Emma gone out without her - with Ruby or Ashley or something - and she'd not told her? Not that she was big on going out in the town, but it was what the action implied that troubled her. Or it would have, if she'd had enough time to process it before she caught a glimmer of moonlight reflecting off a desk. She squinted, peering through the glass door. Emma's badge, gun, and keys were placed neatly on the desk. _'She wouldn't...' _A cannonball of ice seemed to suddenly drop into her gut and her feet were suddenly on auto-pilot, leading her back to her apartment.

Her feet only stopped leading her of their own volition when she'd reached the top of the stairs to Emma's loft. She puzzled, fixated on a green scuff along the toe of her suede ballet shoes before suddenly realizing she was still looking down - as if waking from a dream. Slowly, she raised her eyes; gaze trailing along the floor, up the bed bannister, to the mattress. If Mary Margaret has been asked that morning if she thought she could ever be hurt by a neatly made bed, she would have laughed - rightfully so.

But here she was. There _it_ was. A perfectly made bed, floating in the center of a cold, empty room, like a water lily in inky black water. She stood staring, not quite believing her eyes - willing them to adjust and see Emma's things that simply had to be hiding in the shadows. But the bed was all she really needed to see.

Emma never made her bed. She said it made her feel trapped, having her feet strapped down by blankets tightly tucked under the end of the mattress. With a little gentle prodding, she'd admitted the deeper truth - it reminded her too much of the group homes she stayed in between foster families. But there there it was, made, with hospital corners so crisp she'd have envied the skill in any other situation.

Mary Margaret slowly turned on her heel, taking the steps one at a time, her legs suddenly heavy and lethargic. Upon reaching the bottom of the stairs she sank down, landing with a light whump to sit on the bottom step, at a loss as to what she was seeing indicated. So she sat, stewing in her emotions, with no real thought.

Her feet took over again, guiding her to her room, where everything was as it should be, and before she knew it, she was changed and ready for bed. But all she could do was let herself be flung about like a raft in nor'easter storm of her own feelings. She was numb at the center of it, only finally forced to conscious action as her arm tingled from being pinned beneath her body for too long. She flipped over, and this little bit of action kick started her thought processes just enough to allow her indulge the thought that her friendship with the larger than life woman that was Emma Swan had been some sort of waking fantasy. There was nothing here to indicate her friend had ever existed. Her own personal Twilight Zone.

Except for the voice in the back of her head. _'You're wrong.'_ Her eyes flitted across the room as she realized that she was, indeed, wrong.

Her eyes came into focus, locking on to the newest addition to her photo collection. There it was, the newly framed picture that proudly stood at center stage. Her and Emma. Try as the blonde might, there was proof that she had been here. Proof that she'd been cared for - and that Emma had cared for her - smiling back at her. The tightness in Mary's chest spasmed, gripping her heart even harder, and sent her tumbling into the most intense sense of deja vu she'd ever experienced. As if this had happened before. David? No. That had been painful, but not the same This was - is was someone who was supposed to be there for her always, someone who was supposed to be family, suddenly revealing that it had all been a lie. That their relationship had all been lies, taking the only thing she had left - them - and poisoning every memory of their time together. She was heartbroken.

_No._ She was livid. _That's_ what she was. Certainly not the other 'L' words - lonely, left behind, or lost. How could such a betrayal feel so familiar when she'd never gone through it before? But such questions were quickly engulfed by flames of indignant rage at having what her life was supposed to be ripped from her by someone she trusted; someone she loved.

'How **dare** she?' How could Emma, of all people, not understand what she was doing to Mary Margaret when she up and disappeared without as much as a goodbye. So why did she feel like at the heart of this, she was simply getting back what she'd given? She could feel a second rising tide of fury, fueled by a deep well of hurt, lapping at her heart as Emma's voice echoed in her ears. _'I can't lose my family!' _It repeated, over and over again, but as she let that voice ache in her heart she gradually became aware that it was changing. It was no longer Emma's voice, but a darker one; one that refused to be identified as it declared _'We're family dear. I'm here for , and forever.' _Her anger felt almost vengeful. Mary's eyes remained locked with Emma's paper ones, and it truly felt as if her friend were looking back at her. Slowly, it dawned; that voice and the pain that came with it - Emma, her... family - it was oil and water. It felt wrong, almost sickening, to associate that with the woman who meant the world to her. She pushed the other darker feelings aside, a surprisingly easy feat for their intensity, but it was as if they had a hiding place ready made for them - out of sight, and out of mind, everything in its place.

Mary rolled onto her back, wondering where all this was coming from. She couldn't remember feeling so passionate about something in her life. Not even David. Of course, Emma had been there to fill in the hole on the other side of her bed when he'd broken her heart. Now there was no one. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to stop - to sleep - but only succeeded in forcing out a single tear she wouldn't have even been aware of if it weren't for the cold trail it left behind as it rolled down her cheek. Laying there, every little noise began to seep into her consciousness. The groans of an older building settling. The knock of pipes. The yapping of a small dog blocks away. It was the noisiest damned silence she'd ever heard.

There had been a time, back in the B.E. era - 'Before Emma', as Henry liked to call it - that she'd actually enjoyed the sounds. She'd filled her time, when she wasn't teaching, with volunteer work where she could not just keep busy, but connect with people. The hospital, town events like Miner's Day, the Halloween Harvest Festival and baking Soul Cakes for the All Souls Days parade that came not long after - it provided the illusion of having a personal life. The only trouble with those diversions was that they stood in stark relief against her empty apartment. That nightly whispered cacophony of noises kept her company in the lonely hours between dinner and the opening school bells. They brought the energy of life. Just like Emma. Only she hadn't just been company. She'd transformed Mary's apartment from a dwelling into a home. No, that wasn't quite right. The two of them, a pair of lonely souls, had made a home together.

Was that why she was so outraged? Because Emma had stolen something from her? The gnawing sense of guilt she'd been pushing away pushed back at this thought, but she was mystified by it. No. Irritated by it. Maybe both. She let out a groan of frustration and buried her head under her pillow, attempting to block out the noises coming from within as well as without. This only lasted a long minute before she decide it wasn't working. Emma's voice was back. _'It didn't matter whether I was living with some family that believed in latch-key parenting or on a cot in a group home with 20 other kids. The shows were the same, and it was always there to keep me company. Silence was, is... too loud.' _It was her explanation for her habit of constantly having a tv or radio on, and suddenly it made perfect sense.

Mary pulled herself up to a sitting position, keeping the blanket wrapped around her shoulders like a makeshift cloak against the evening chill and padded her way into the living room. She grabbed the tv remote, flipping the tv set on before curling up in a ball on the couch. She wasn't surprised to find it left on the last channel Emma had been watching; the local tv station's usual late night B movie marathon. She laid back, eyes shut tight again, and let the quiet dialogue and melodramatic music of some cheesy old black and white sci-fi movie drown out the rest of the world, as well as the gnawing voices in her head.

When sleep finally came, Mary Margaret found herself awash in a torrent of half-remembered conversations and confusing images. David chasing her through a forest, her chasing him. Her stalking her prey - a woman she somehow knew was her mother-but-not, bloodlust clouding her vision. A river of tears that she nearly drowned in, being swept up in a tornado made up of the shattered pieces of her home while the evil witch cackled in glee, landing in a strange, cold world - alone and so, so much smaller than she'd been before. And suddenly, she was back, her arm around Emma, smiling for the camera, feeling more like herself, but incomplete at the core. It wasn't a wholly alien feeling - but far more pronounced than usual. As if she'd been separated from herself. The smile fell from her face as she realized something wasn't right. Emma was stiff in her arm, but not in that 'I need space' way of hers. Mary pulled away to get a better look at her friend. The blonde was frozen, a living embodiment of the picture next to her bed. It was then that she realized she wasn't in Storybrooke. There was seemingly nothing, in fact, except her, Emma, and the beat up little yellow Bug.

_"And me,"_ echoed a strangely familiar voice.

Mary Margaret's heart started in surprise at the sound. "Hello?" Her eyes darted through the haze as she spun round in place, searching for the source. "Who's there?" she asked, her voice quivering. She began to back up, pressing against the door of the car, and found she felt at least a little less exposed with something solid behind her. "Wh-who are you?" she cried out, doing her best to fill her voice with as much moxie as she could muster. It was depressingly little.

"_I think you know," _replied the woman's voice, seemingly right at her ear, and Mary felt a hand land softly on her shoulder. She spun around towards the voice, and lept back instinctively, away from the car, hands up and at the ready, even if she didn't have any earthly idea what she'd do with them. Before her stood a woman glowing in white. No, creams and whites, she realized as she came into focus - a long high-collared white coat adorned with silver studs over a pearlescent bodice, and tan suede pants. Her ebony hair was braided into an upswept ponytail, yet so long, the hair still cascaded down her back in waves. Mary Margaret blinked as her eyes seemed to have trouble focusing on the familiar woman who seemed to be smiling at her. Her mother? No.._ a _mother? A mother... she blinked and took another step back. It was... herself?

The woman smiled kindly at her, almost seeming to chuckle. "And there it is." She stepped forward so gracefully on her feet, she almost seemed to be gliding as she made a circle around Mary, examining her. "You spend enough time running for your life, hiding in the woods, and you either wind up light on your feet, or dead," the woman replied. "I found the former more appealing," she joked.

Mary blinked rapidly, her chin down as she tried to process what she was seeing. "You... you're me?"

The woman's path came to rest in front of Mary and shrugged. "In a manner of speaking. I'm part of you." She gave Mary, hands still up in a defensive gesture, the once over and seemed to laugh inwardly. "I'm pleased to see a little of me has rubbed off on you. It took a lot of energy for me to wrest enough control to save Emma from that madman of a milliner."

"The Mad Hatter," corrected Mary. "Or at least, that's who he thought he was. Wonderland is only a story, after all." She relaxed her stance, but made no move to get closer to the woman who, she had to admit, very much appeared to be her twin. "Of course, who am I to talk? I'm standing in the middle of nowhere, talking to myself. I'd say I was dreaming, but I feel perfectly awake."

"I suppose I'm playing with semantics, but I'm not _exactly _you."

"Who are you then?"

"I think you know."

Mary looked befuddled for a moment, before her eyes went wide. The woman wore an amused smile in return. "You can call me Snow."

"Snow White," said Mary nodding dully. "Uh, Mary Margaret," she replied, hand to her chest, as an introduction.

"I know. It _was _an old alias of mine, after all. I do wish you'd have listened to your inner voice and actually read it - but at least you passed it on to the right hands. Of all the things Regina may lack, a sense of humor is not one of them - twisted though it may be," said Snow.

"The Mayor?"

"The Evil Queen. One in the same really," said Snow with a nod.

"The curse... Henry was right?"

"Yes. Smart boy," she said, a proud smile gracing her features for a moment before she turned her attention to the statue that was Emma. "But that's not why I'm here."

"Never mind why... _how _are you... wait - _I'm_ Snow White?" Mary babbled.

"Yes... no... well, certainly not at the moment. The curse can only suppress our memories, dull our instincts, and such. _You_ are all that makes up Mary Margaret, and I, that which makes up Snow White. What are we but our memories, paired with a soul? That basic template which comprises our temperament. I'm a part of you, and I watch, and I guide when I can, but the curse has made my voice weak."

"So... I'm Snow White, if she had lived my life, then?"

"Essentially. Only the curse, the memories given to you, were crafted to not only tamp down any natural good traits, but also encourage the weaknesses."

Mary crossed her arms defiantly. "Oh. Great. So I'm the just the scraps of rubble from the block of marble the fairest of them all was carved from." She furrowed her brow - that had come out far more full of despair than the biting tone she'd intended.

"Like I said - you're Mary. That spark you have in waking life - that's from me. When we wake up, you - we - will be both. You just happen to be the one whose memories remain when we're conscious. And you're certainly not 'scraps'. Those false memories were loaded against you, filled with decision we'd never have made. But that's how you remember them."

"How do you know?"

"I see it all, even though I don't have any real say in things," replied Snow matter-of-factly.

"You're trapped, looking through my eyes?! That's horrible..." she exclaimed.

"Not exactly. I'm not so much a conscious observer as I am a... conscience, of sorts."

"My inner voice..."

"Right."

"But how-"

"Are we talking to each other?" finished Snow. Mary nodded. "The veil is lifted in our dreams - or so my mother used to say. I suspect it's something like that. Perhaps the nature of the curse can only touch so deeply into our souls." She shrugged flippantly and chuckled. "I fear that falling victim to a handful of curses doesn't make one an expert on them."

"Has this happened before? Us talking, I mean."

"Not regularly, if that's what you're asking." Snow shook her head. "Only twice before, actually. The first time I - you - saw Charming - David - lying in that hospital bed. I was so relieved he was even alive... the creation of this place of nothing just happened." She gestured to the emptiness around them. "I was almost as baffled as you are now. I didn't think such a thing love, or true desperation - I know not which, nor do I care, really."

"What happened?"

"I'm afraid I didn't make the most of it - I didn't really know what it meant, or if it would affect you when you woke up. Never mind that you had no inkling of any kind of curse. But, kind, and frankly, afraid of confrontation, as you are, you humored your 'dream self', and promised to try to fulfill my request."

"Bringing flowers to David's bedside..." said Mary, realization dawning.

Snow nodded, a sad smile on her face. "It wasn't much, but at least I got to see him - after a decade apart, even that much was a blessing."

"Ten years? I only started volunteering two - three years ago tops," exclaimed Mary, but Snow simply shook her head. Mary swallowed hard as she remembered the other part of Henry's curse theory. And that he was the only resident not stuck in time. "Ten years ago... Did Henry's arrival weaken the curse then? Enough for you to... act as my conscience, or whatever?"

"Your guess is as good as mine, but I'm inclined to agree." She seemed tickled by the idea. "Shocking that I'd agree, I know."

"The second time was Emma, wasn't it?" asked Mary. She had liked the woman from the moment she met her - but the next morning, she had almost felt magnetically pulled to the blonde.

Snow nodded in answer to Mary's unexpressed question. "We talked that night. I knew it was her from the moment she said her name. She'd come back..." Snow drew in a long, deep breath as her eyes glistened with a heady mix of emotions." She shook her head, clearing it as best she could. "Anyway... it was easier the second time. You already knew of Henry's ideas about the curse. About who he said you really were. You agreed to take care of Emma, even if you couldn't fully accept that she was our daughter."

"And that's why I bailed her out the next day?" replied Mary.

Snow nodded absently as she crossed over to where the image of Emma stood, smiling up, and brushed the back of her hand across the blonde's cheek. She wore the most heartbreaking smile Mary Margaret had ever seen - and given it was her face, that was saying something. "You don't know how much it means to me that you brought this."

"The picture?" asked Mary in confusion.

Snow shook her head. "No. Emma..." She brushed a stray strand of her daughter's hair back, tucking it behind her ear. "Something to hold on to." It was then that Mary realized that the photograph version of Emma in this place was very much flesh and blood - or rather, if that movie 'Inception' was correct, probably a manifestation of her memories of the real Emma. She watched as her doppelganger took her place at Emma's side, wrapping one arm around her, much as Mary Margaret had, but her head faced Emma - not some imaginary camera. Her eyes searched the blonde's face, as if looking for something, but soon closed them, resting her forehead against Emma's temple and sighed.

She stood there for a time, and Mary Margaret simply watched, as breaking the spell of th moment seemed like it would have been an act of terrible injustice. Snow was murmuring something, barely even a whisper in volume, yet Mary found she could somehow hear it all - much like earlier, before Snow had appeared to her. _'You smell like your father,' _she said with a smile._ 'All that leather and … he loved lavender too. But don't tell him I told you - he'd just deny it and be furious with me for ruining his image..." _Her face crumpled into a frown once more. _'I am so, __**so**__ sorry... I missed it all... I missed __**everything**__... if I had been there, to soothe those hurts... I would have banished every stick and stone and hateful word from this world for you... you have to believe I..." She sighed once more. 'No matter what, I will always be __**so**__ proud of you, sweetheart." _Snow opened her eyes and took one last long look at her daughter. "My Emma," she said finally, and planted a feather-light kiss on her daughter's forehead.

Snow took the few paces back to Mary Margaret and offered her a sardonic smile. "I doubt she'll let me do anything like that when the curse breaks," she said wryly.

"But... that's just a memory standing there right?" asked Mary. "She won't remember, or even have heard any of that?"

There was a sly twinkle in Snow's eyes as she shook her head. "No... but **you **did." Despite Mary's confused expression, Snow offered no further clarification as to what that meant.

Realizing as much, Mary glanced at Emma, then back to Snow. "You want me to go get her, don't you?"

Snow shook her head. "No. You couldn't even if I wanted us to. The curse won't let you leave Storybrooke, remember? But she'll be back."

"How can you be so certain?" asked Mary.

"Because." Snow smiled knowingly. "I have faith." Mary nodded, despite not truly believing the same herself, and Snow seemed to have read her - or their, really - mind again. "Faith isn't the same as certainty. It's a leap the heart makes when it knows it could not live in this world were the thing you believe in not real."

"So what exactly _are _my marching orders here, then?" asked Mary.

"We need to slap some sense into her," replied Snow bluntly.

"I'm sorry?"

"You and I both know that the only way Emma is going to grow emotionally - become what she was meant to be - is if she's dragged there. No one has held her feet to the fire before, and sometimes, being a good parent is being the one to do just that. No matter how much it may hurt us, we're taking the pain they would have experienced without our guidance onto ourselves."

"But I'm just her roommate - friend, whatever," protested Mary.

Snow looked at her with a stern resoluteness. "You and I both know that's not true. And even if we weren't her mother,_ she_ called us family first."

"But still-"

"'But still' _nothing_!" Snow shot back, her tone not unkind, if passionate. "Grow a thicker skin, or just use that anger and hurt to propel you into telling Emma what she needs to hear - _not_ what she wants to hear. Let us be her mom for just one brief moment. She'll listen. She needs the reminder of who she wants to be - and she'll never save us, never break the curse, if you let her fall back and revert to the person she used to be before Storybrooke."

"How do you - eh, nevermind. Faith, right?" Mary remarked, to which Snow nodded patiently.

Mary shifted uncomfortably. "So... what happens to me when the curse breaks and you wake up?"

Snow shrugged. "I can't say for sure, but I would guess we'll simply switch places. It'll be your turn to ride shotgun, so to speak."

"A voice in your head?" asked Mary trepidatiously.

"No. Breaking the curse should mean nothing being forgotten anymore. I still remember everything you do. And like I said, what are we but our memories? I suspect we'll be something closer to partners. Perhaps, as one, we will both gain something. And if that's true, we won't be Mary Margaret or Snow White. For all intents and purposes, we'll be both."

"I suppose I should apologize then, while I still can," replied Mary.

A genial puzzlement came over Snow's face at this remark. "Whatever for?"

"I know what I am - what I bring to this... pairing. Separate from you, I feel so... small. Surely you've seen, or felt, my... my meekness," said Mary , barely above a whisper.

Snow shook her head. "Hey," she said, taking a step closer. "What I've seen in you is a part of me I believed I'd lost." Mary remained silent, her eyes asking the obvious question. "_Forgiveness, _Mary Margaret. The ability to see past the curtain of hate and cruelty, and recognize the crippled soul behind that. You did it with Regina when you called her on every misdeed she'd done to you, and still found compassion for her. Even if it _was_ wrapped up in sharp remarks," she added with a smirk.

"That wasn't you?" asked Mary hesitantly.

Snow's face grew somber. "I've said all I thought I needed to say to her the moment I bit into that apple. But you reminded me of how to keep what I thought I'd lost in my heart. And I'll be honored to have that back."

Mary nodded, a lump forming in her throat at the admonition.

Snow returned the nod and leveled her gaze with Mary's. "Now, if I may say just one last thing..."

"Yes?"

Snow grimaced apologetically. "I'm sorry for what's about to happen. It's just how this works."

"How what wor-" Mary began to ask, but the world seemed to drop out from under her and she found herself back in the swirling mass of memories of both lives, reimagined and shaped to fit into the stories found in the land without magic.

"Works?!" she screamed as she awoke abruptly. She sat up, panting and covered in a thin sheen of sweat. She quickly regained her bearings and let herself collapse back, landing on the couch cushion with a 'whump'. _'What the hell was that?'_ she thought. It all ran together and she struggled to make some sense of why the jumble had been so terrifying - or maybe just overwhelming? She let her head loll to one side, where the tv was still on. Some ancient film adaptation of "Alice in Wonderland" was rolling; the lost little girl pleading her case before the Queen of Hearts. Mary took a deep breath, willing her heart to slow its jackrabbit speeds. The movie must conjured up that mess of a Wonderland/OZ/Sherwood mashup in her nightmare. _'How the hell does that help Emma sleep?' _she wondered.

And just like that, it was all back, if a bit more processed by her unconscious as she slept - or so she assumed. She stared up at the ceiling and judged by the blue-grey light seeping into her apartment that it was pre-dawn. Mary yawned, pulling herself upright, and ran her fingertips through her short hair. She could tell she had exhaustion-born bags under her eyes, even without looking in a mirror, and promptly decided to give up on the fantasy of a good night's sleep. A cup - or rather, a pot - of coffee would have to do instead. Once she'd set that brewing she hopped into the shower, cranking the temperature to the hottest she could stand.

The reality of what Emma had done was still hovering in her thoughts, but somehow, things didn't seem so dire anymore. When she emerged from the shower, and made her way to her room she realized Emma hadn't left her apartment key. "If that's what you need as an out to come back, then so be it," she said to the absent Emma."But I sure as hell am still going to give you a piece of my mind." _'Because that's what she needs,' _a voice from deep inside her added.

Although dressed and strangely refreshed, she still poured herself a cup of coffee, contemplating what to do. It was still earlier than any sane person would be awake, so she couldn't even engage in a little window shopping on Main Street, nor was she too eager to go on one of her usual nature walks through the forest. Not with that maniac Jefferson still on the loose. As she contemplated this, her eyes landed on the abandoned grocery bag of ingredients she'd purchased the previous evening.

If Emma could be alone, so could she, she reasoned, though in her heart of hearts she knew that statement was no more true for Emma than it was for her. Her thoughts drifted to Henry, their official tasting judge and she frowned as she realized that in her outrage, she'd all but forgotten how devastated Henry would be that Emma had left without so much as a goodbye. She hoped, at least, that she was wrong on that tack - that Emma had bid her emotionally fragile son goodbye. Whatever the case, she decided she could at least make good use of the foodstuffs and bring the boy some comfort food.

Normally, baking was a relaxing activity for her. It was an action, like cleaning, that she could focus on fully and would leave her feeling in control of _something_. But not this time. Instead, she just found herself being reminded of all their other plans made in that tiny cell. She pushed and jabbed more than stirred, each jam of the pastry spatula a punctuation point to every point she wanted to drive into Emma. If - no - _when_ her friend came back she would be in store for a wakeup call. If Emma wasn't ready to save herself, then she would have to do it for her.

For both of their sakes. For her family.

The sound of a familiar pair of boot steps made their way down the hall towards her door as Mary picked up a pitcher of orange juice to pour herself a glass. The jingle of keys outside the door told her everything she needed to know, and she steeled herself, surprised to find that the trepidation letting loose a kaleidoscope of butterflies in her stomach far exceeded that which she'd felt when confronting Regina so recently. Nerves or not, she knew she was going to say what needed to be said; she could feel that still small inner voice lending her its strength, even though she couldn't truly hear it. The voice surged forward, and for reasons she couldn't fathom, her mouth seemed to lead her, much as her feet had the night before.

'_Thank you, Mary Margaret. Thank you for granting me this gift. For letting me be her mother for just this moment.' _

Mary gave Emma a perfunctory glance before turning her attention back to the bowl, giving the batter a final small jab. "Hmm. I thought you'd left."

* * *

**A/N: **This fic was intended to be a two shot, but damned if Snow didn't take the reins and flesh this out far more than I'd originally intended. Ah well, **c'est la vie. Henry and Charming will just have to be given their own chapter. Hope you enjoyed reading it. :)**


	3. It Shouldn't Have Been

**A/N: **Much love to everyone who read/favorited/followed and a big mug of FTL love (that's cocoa with cinnamon and a huge dollop of whipped cream) to those that reviewed: **Marcie Gore, Tvmatchmaker795, La5021, hjbau, Andi88, stagemanagertargaryen, iamfez, Shopowner93, Reeves3, whiskets, CamiRamirez, Temo, Reeves3, abbey47, boop-oop-ee-doo.**

And they cut to the picture again (2x04)! Thus feeding this fic, and really, playing into what I was gonna do with Charming anyway. :)

There have been a few requests for continuing with MM giving Emma that motherly dressing down in "Apple Red As Blood". Honestly, I had merely intended for that chapter to serve as a little subtext for the canon scene, but I will go ahead and give it a go, not this chapter, but what will be chapter 5. I have an idea for it, but I'm not a fan of simply adding internal dialogue to actual scenes on the show, and the idea would act as a pseudo-flashback. The long and the short of it is that I'd like to keep chapters in chronological order as they went on the show. So, for those who requested it, something to anticipate! :)

Now, one with the show!

* * *

**Chapter 3: It Shouldn't Have Been...**

Mary Margaret's head was spinning by the time she got home late that evening - or what could more properly be called, early that morning. She had always been of the opinion that the best way to clear head was a clean home. An infinite series of relatively small tasks that kept her hands busy, could be done on autopilot, and gave her a sense of accomplishment at the end; solvable problems.

And boy did her mind ever need clearing right now. She was pretty sure the past 24 hours had been the longest in her life. At least for as long as she could remember. First, her confrontation with Emma. She didn't know what had gotten into her. Yeah, she had decided she was going to give her roommate a good what's-for, but how many times had she thought that about Regina, or David, or even the entire town, but never followed through? Confrontation was _not_ her thing. She had never even managed to muster up the gumption to fight back against her middle school bully. And that girl, Somerset Borealis, a girl _two grades_ below her, had wrongly gotten it in her head that Mary Margaret had stolen her boyfriend. She'd had every right to put that girl in her place, and certainly the physical capability, but somehow, she'd never managed to muster up the nerve to give her a good tongue lashing - let alone the punch in the nose she really wanted to let fly.

Sure, she'd told Regina off a few days earlier, but it had still ended rather limply. As much as she knew it probably galled the Mayor to be pitied by the likes of her, something deep inside her didn't like feeding into that vile woman's victim complex. And David? Not even a day after she'd yelled at Emma, the man had come along with what amounted to an ultimatum - tell me you want me around _now_ or you'll never see me again - and she'd blown him off, but had failed to call him on such an unfair demand.

So, why did Emma have to be the one she finally managed to bear the full brunt of what she was feeling? And why had the backbone she'd suddenly grown disappear when she was ambushed hours later by David?_ He's _the one she shouldn't have pulled punches with, not her friend! Hell, he was the reason Emma had run off, when it came down to it. When it came to messy relationships, Emma had been like a big sister, pointing out the smartest path through an emotional minefield Mary had never developed the skills for. As emotionally guarded as her friend was, and it _was_ too much, she knew what she was talking about. Mary, on the other hand, could count the number of guys she'd dated on one hand. Even a hand that had lost a couple of fingers to a hungry bandsaw. But had she listened? Nope.

Instead, she'd gone on as she pleased, and every time she'd gotten hurt, Emma was there to pick her up and dust her off, as best she could, and try to point her down the right path again. And again. Meanwhile, Emma was locking horns with Regina, fighting not just for Henry, but for Mary herself, as well. She'd known things were coming to a head, but she was too wrapped up in her dating drama to realize Emma was being pushed too far. Of _course_ she'd tried to run with Henry. When it had come down to the final battle, Mary Margaret had played right into Emma's jaded expectations: she was nowhere to be found. She'd told herself that her friend would come to her and ask when she really needed help.

How stupidly naive - no, selfish - that had really been!

Of course Emma wasn't going to ask for help. She didn't know how to ask, nor did she expect any such cry to be answered. So she'd handled it on her own, making a desperate decision. Truthfully, she _had _done exactly what Mary so flippantly instructed her to do. She was being Henry's mom, and she _had _figured out a solution. It was a bad ssolution, but she was panicked, not to mention alone.

Mary Margaret paused from her dusting and let out a long, tired sigh. So why _had _she unloaded on her well-meaning, if flawed, friend? Her gaze landed on the photo of herself and Emma and she realized it was because Emma was safe. It was okay to tell the truth becuuase that's what family did. Yes, she'd been hurt by her friend leaving wighout so much as a note, abandoning her, but what right did she have to complain when she'd been the far more absent friend? Yelling at Emma had been the first step back to showing she cared, but she wondered if Emma realized she only chastised _because _shecared_. _It's not like she'd ever had a family to teach those. things.

She hadn't seen hide nor hair of the blonde for the rest of the day, but she wasn't surprised. Emma had retreated upstairs after their little blowout, and Mary had left to go window shopping before the blonde had come back down. After that, a few hours readjng and an early dinner at Granny's. When she didn't want to go home, the matron had always let her camp out in a booth, using the diner like a library, since the town lacked one.

And then the call had come.

She'd been surprised Emma would try to reach her so soon, as she herself didn't quite know how to open a dialogue again. Emma was in a panic, but not the kind of silent simmering one that had been brewing since it looked like Mary was truly going to be put on trial. This was different and wholly terrifying for Mary. Henry. Poison. Hospital. Regina. _'Please_ watch out over Henry.' Don't trust Gold. Report Jefferson on sight.

Somehow Jefferson, that houdini of a madman, was in play here. Had he poisoned Henry? Surely she'd have said so, if he had. Despite her urgency, Emma had sounded distracted, but vowing she would fix this.

_She'd _figure it out.

Emma had begun to say something about the library, before she heard Regina cut her off. She could practically see her friend staring daggers at the Mayor in the tense silence, but she hadn't continued. A quick thanks, no goodbye, and she was disconnected. Mary Margaret was still wondering what on earth Emma and Regina could possibly do to save Henry from a poisoning that even Whale couldn't identify, but it hadn't been the time to ask even if she could have gotten a word in edgewise.

When she'd arrived at the hospital, as serious as things seemed to be, she'd still dreaded what was sure to be an awkwardness between her and Dr. Whale. What had she been thinking, sleeping with the guy when they weren't even on a first name basis? When she'd seen Henry, her heart had dropped into her feet, taking any such frivolous, selfish concerns with it. He'd looked so tiny in that bed. So frail, his skin so pale it was almost blue, his breathing so shallow she found herself staring at his chest just to see any movement.

Something David had said once about his coma suddenly came to mind. _'I can't say I remember hearing anything, but I swear I remember a warm, loving presence that would drift in and out of my existence. Especially at the end. I like to think it's what gave me the strength to finally wake up.'_ He shot her that dashing smile; the one that struck her to the core, even just in memory. _'You gave me the strength.' _When she'd noticed the book she'd given Henry - his safety blanket - all she could do was hope against reason that she could do the same for him as she had for David. After all, what was life without the hope for miracles? And so, even though she herself didn't believe in happy endings anymore - she could barely even hold on to believing that hope was anything but self-inflicted punishment - she read to him.

She'd read to him, barely able to keep her eyes on the page as she fought the urge to watch every subtle rise and fall of his chest, until the hospital staff had forced her to go home. Even the first step away from her favorite student's bedside made her sick beyond reason. But Emma calling her family hardly accredited her as "family" where hospital regulations were concerned.

And so, here she was, feather duster in one hand, can of Pledge in the other, like some kind of vigilante of for dustbunny justice. She blinked, pushing the image of that dying child, that boy who had meant more to her than she could've guessed before today, and realized she'd been staring at the picture of herself and Emma. The scene seemed like a lifetime ago, and even last night felt incredibly distanced in time. She placed her dustbusting equipment aside, taking the framed photo in her hands instead, and found herself idly wandering out of her room, into the main living space.

In a year filled with change, good and bad, and more bizarre twists than she could ever remember in her life combined, the past 24 hours were shaping up to beat them all. Emma teaming up with Regina just hours after abducting her son, David abandoning her, or her abandoning any hope of being with him - she wasn't sure exactly what to call it - and Henry on his deathbed, victim of some unknown sociopath or just an allergy reaction? She couldn't help feeling it was all coming to a head. Like watching the final puzzle pieces falling into place, while still not knowing what the picture it was forming was.

The strangest part was something deep down inside of her was eagerly anticipating it. She, Miss Mary 'Reliable "Margaret as her high school's yearbook staff had dubbed her, didn't like change. Not really. She liked the idea of it in an abstract sense, but inviting Emma to live with her had been about the boldest move to change her life she'd ever made on purpose - the David thing had been a wholly unplanned force of nature. But real change had always frightened her. As unhappy as she'd ever been in a situation, taking a blind leap of faith wasn't in her blood.

She shivered as a swell of... something... surged from within her. Like someone had just walked across her grave, as the saying went. She shook her head, wondering where that sense of _wrongness_ of her own thoughts had come from. She set the photo down on the counter of her kitchen island, and sat down on a stool, resting her chin on her folded arms in front of her as she stared into photo-Emma's eyes and frowned.

And there it was again, though now simply lapping gently at the edge of her consciousness like the sea at high tide. Insistent. But she couldn't trust the hope there, no matter how urgently it insisted that all this tragedy and insanity was making the way for something good. The idea was crazy! This whole year had been one big demonstration in jumping from the frying pan, into the fire, and there was no reason to think that this next jump wouldn't burn them all to a crisp in a vat of boiling oil. But there it was, still insisting against logic that something was different this time.

Even the thought of hope terrified her, and she felt a single cold tear slide down her cheek. But then the look in Emma's eyes changed. She knew it was probably lack of sleep, and certainly her imagination, but she swore her friend's eyes were beckoning her in. Inviting, but not pleading, for help. _'That's why it will be different this time!' _her own voice insisted at her from within, and she nodded to herself.

This had all happened because she'd done what she'd vowed she'd never do - abandoned Emma. Her closest friend and only true confidant and she'd failed her. She bit her lower lip nervously, but soon the resolve was set. Whatever came of all this - a miracle recovery, or a devastating tragedy - Emma would have everything Mary Margaret had, whether she liked it or not; because that's what felt right in all of this.

It's what family did. And that word, for them, fit more than it ever should have on paper. As if by divine happenstance, the first beam of light from dawn's break shown like a soft beam onto the photo. Visiting hours would open again soon, and she had no idea what she'd find when she got there. She simply knew she'd have to be there, as a friend, as family, one hundred percent.

She stood up, finally breaking her gaze away from Emma's, and made her way to the door. She donned her cream-colored heavy coat and a beret that fit over her ears to ward of the chilly morning air. Walking had always helped, and if she was to figure out the best way to be there for her friend, come what may, she would need a game plan. As she closed the door behind her, she had the strangest sense that the same old Mary Margaret would never walk through that portal again. Something was changing.

And it didn't scare her in the slightest.

* * *

**A/N: **Ok, so obviously Aurora never knew Snow in FTL, let alone Storybrooke, nor would she have had any reason to blame Snow for the loss of Phillip, but it's magic, and I couldn't imagine a better humiliating memory for the curse to conjure up than MM being pushed around by that waif.


End file.
